Lifeguard
by DuskWolfAtDawn
Summary: Arthur Kirkland, an ordinary man living in south England, is dragged to a community center pool by his little brother, Peter, and on-and-off best friend Francis. However, Alfred F. Jones, the new American lifeguard, seems to catch his eye... USUK, USxUK, USAUK, USAxUK. America/England, America/Britain, Human names used! There will be sticky smut/yaoi/lemon in the next chapters!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Another USUK fic! ^^ The idea had been drifting around for a while before finally being written out~ XD My gf and I were talking about it before summer started (I'm her semeAmerica and she's my ukeEngland), but I'm posting this only now! Oh, and it is several minutes past 1 AM over here in good ol' 'Merica. c: I am feeling unnaturally pleasant for some odd reason, but I'm not going to say I don't like it. XDDD At least I'm not irritable, amirite? vUv Anywhoooo!  
This is kind of a boring chapter, but I had it finished-So I thought I should post it! Oh, and have a grumpy Iggy =3=  
Rated T for now, but it'll turn M later~ 8D  
Also, I'm trying a new line spacing style! ^^ Tell me how it turns out!  
It's actually really hard for me to use their human names, ahah X'D But it makes more sense if they're human-Point it out for me, please, if you spot that there're any mistakes that I missed! ;A; **

**Arthur Kirkland = England/Britain  
Peter Kirkland = Sealand  
Francis Bonnefoy = France  
Alfred F. Jones = America (He doesn't appear in this chapter at all, but I'll have him here just for reference XD) **

Arthur didn't know whether to be irritated or relieved when he heard a French accent sing his name.  
Peter set his video game on pause, eyes wide and a huge grin stretched across his features. "Francis!" He almost screeched, dropping everything and swinging open his bedroom door to find the Frenchman there waiting.

The man just giggled, eagerly lifting him and hoisting him onto his hip. "Peter! I haven't seen you in so long!" He exclaimed, the sheer happiness in his voice enough to make Arthur groan. The Brit grumbled, lifting from his seat on the floor and tossing his controller down.

"Frog," He began, crossing his arms and offering the other man a deep scowl. Arthur gave him a once-over, taking note of the man's clothes. A plain white T-shirt, as well as what looked like beach shorts. "What brings you here, at this time? You usually come at a later hour," The green-eyed cocked a thick brow.

Just laughing heartily, the older gave him a twinkling gaze. "What, has little Peter not told you yet? School is over! Summer is here!" He took the chance to pinch the boy's cheek, just chortling at the light-hearted protest. Francis looked back to the Brit, smiling wide.

"Oh, yeah! Sorry, Arthur, I haven't told you yet!" Peter apologized, but he looked like he didn't really care.

Arthur just scoffed, rolling his eyes incredulously. "Of course you haven't," He deadpanned, gaze lidded dangerously. "But you wouldn't come just to tell me that, Francis. What, pray tell, are you here for?"  
Francis's clear blue eyes flickered. He tilted his head towards a shoulder, brows suggesting an offended frown.

"Geez, you don't have to be so sensitive," He complained. "I wanted to take little Peter to that new community center pool! Won't that be fun, Peter?" Exaggerated excitement bubbled in the Frenchman's voice as he looked to the boy in his arms. As if on cue, his sparkling blue eyes widened and he whipped around eagerly to his brother.

"Oh, please, please, _please_ , Arthur! Can I go, please?" He begged, brows high and hands clasping together in an almost comically cliché fashion.

Arthur showed but a moment of shock, soon to give way to a disapproving expression. "Say, who do you think you are to barge in and demand to take my brother away to some public place that I've never been myself? God, you must think I'm one hell of a bloody idiot. Besides, Peter's not even ready to go. He doesn't have any pool clothes prepared yet." He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shutting tight as he breathed out exasperatedly.

Francis's frown deepened slightly. "Well, then he should go prepare, no?" He stole a kiss from Peter's cheek, subsequently setting the other onto the floor and letting him rush back into his room.  
Arthur choked on his own shock, pulling away just in time before Peter practically ran him over.

"H-hey, I never said—" He grimaced when he saw that the boy was starting to sift through his drawers, searching for his pool shorts. The older Brit faltered, just before letting out a defeated sigh. He stepped up to the Frenchman, glaring darkly. "Listen here, you git. The only reason I'm letting you take Peter is because otherwise, I'd be forced to play more of his bloody video game. Understood? And don't you try anything stupid while I'm gone, frog. You know he's only twelve," He hissed between grit teeth, leaning close as if in a challenge.

If Francis was intimidated at all, he didn't show it. Instead, he chuckled good-naturedly, ruffling the man's already messy blond hair. "Of course! You know, I never said you couldn't come with us," The blue-eyed winked. "I hear they got some new lifeguards…maybe you'll find someone!"

"As if I'd come with you so willingly," The Englishman scowled, backing away and scooting to the side of the doorframe to let Peter pass. He tried to ignore Francis's last statement, rather looking to his younger brother. "Make sure to call me when you want to get back home, alright? Francis has a phone with him, so I'll pick you up."

"Oh, no, that is already worked out! I'll drive him back for you, so you don't have to worry about a thing!" The Frenchman chuckled, kneeling to look the boy in the eye. He got a giggle and an eager nod, and he promptly started looking at Peter's choice in clothing. "Wow, those are good shorts! Shark-patterned, eh? Now, give Uncle Francis a big kiss and say bye to Arthur!"

"H-hold on, how long will you be gone?" The Brit stammered, stumbling forward a few steps.

The other man smiled. "I was thinking the whole day, but—"

"Oh, no. I won't let you do that," Arthur huffed.

"But, Arthur—" The boy started to protest.

"No, Peter. You can't stay that long away. You just had breakfast a little while ago, and you need your meals." The Brit scowled. Peter just pouted, instead looking to Francis.

"Well, then I'll take him until lunchtime." The Frenchman stated, as if in a conclusion.

"That's a good few hours away. How's ten minutes?"

"What? Non, non, non. That's too little time."

"What do you suggest, then?"

"3 hours?"

"No. Half an hour at most."

"And 2 hours?"

"Of course not."

"One hour?"

"Half-hour."

"Forty minutes?"

They continued on until they finally decided that a single hour was good enough.

Arthur peeked through the window blinds, watching as the French-model red car pulled out of the driveway, and in the direction of the city. He sighed briefly, leaving it to collapse onto the nearest armchair.

To be honest, that was more of a daily occurrence than anything. Francis was a classmate of his in high school, and now they visited each other's houses from time to time. Well, actually, the Frenchman visited _him_. Arthur didn't particularly like going to see the man, even though he had a nice house.

Either way, they were closer friends than they would like to admit. Francis would always make jokes about how Arthur secretly loved him, even though the Englishman really would kill him at the first chance he found.

Nowadays, Francis would go apply for various jobs, and usually get fired after a week's time; whereas the Brit would attend online college. Arthur's older brothers had long found jobs and married, and his single mother was already in a retirement home. He was left to take care of Peter, his younger brother, alone in his house.

But more than anything, he felt like a single father. Arthur was definitely a good few years older than his sibling—23 years to 12. That was quite literally an eleven-year difference.

His entire family was born and raised in southern England, and it was all he'd ever known. Francis was, of course, from France. He'd come over to Britain when he was just twenty-two years old or so, and he met Arthur a few weeks after moving. Now 26, he'd been living in the Isles for four years—however, all his relatives spoke only French, and he refused to speak English whenever possible, so he still had a strong accent.

Arthur smacked his lips, glittering emerald eyes skimming over the designs on the ceiling. Unconsciously, his gaze fell to a window, and he sighed. Even though it was a relative miracle in the typically soggy and grim England, the weatherman claimed that the next two weeks would be rain-free—and looking outside confirmed it. The sky was bright, and clear of clouds.  
It was a good day to go to the pool, he would admit to that. However, he was never one to get wet. All his friends would joke that he was just an old cat, and probably couldn't swim. Little did they know…He could swim quite well, thanks very much, and he wasn't obsessed with getting sopping wet every day of the summer, Arthur thought with a sneer.

Really, he just couldn't understand why everyone else was so insistent on doing things in the summer. Unlike _some_ persons he knew, he had studying to do. Schedules and rules were prized in Arthur's eyes. They kept everything clean, pristine, and free of chaos. They practically ran the world. If one had control of his life, he believed, everything was within reach.

But he was done with his studies that day. Usually, he would continue, and do extra practice—but right then, he longed to read one of his books. And so, that was what he did. Arthur picked up an old favorite, and quickly set on the first page.

He probably would've finished it in that single afternoon, too, if it hadn't been for Peter practically kicking the door down.

Arthur started, breath hitching and stiffening when his younger brother bust through the doorframe. The boy was still dripping wet, and water drops were scattering everywhere. A beach towel was loosely draped over his shoulders, and his blond hair was slicked down, pressed to his scalp. The child's laughter instantly bubbled through his house, followed by deeper, French giggles. The older man stepped through the door, still toweling his long blond locks.

"That was the most fun I've had in _months_!" Peter exclaimed, giving evidence of exhaustion by the near-inaudible wheeze in his breath. "You should've been there, Arthur!"

"And get just as wet as you?" He grumbled, bookmarking his page and setting the book down. "There's hardly a good reason for me to do so. Look at yourself, you're a mess. And the cleaning lady just came by a while ago—you're getting everything wet, dear me!" He stood up abruptly, snatching the towel off the boy to attempt to dry him better.

"You don't have to be such a killjoy, Arthur," Peter complained good-naturedly, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "This is just like you. Really, though, you should've gone with us!"

"Maybe next time?" Francis suggested, tilting his head and smiling innocently.

The Brit pursed his lips. "As if. Come along, Peter. Get yourself cleaned up, won't you?" He led his brother back to his room, eyeing the Frenchman. Francis's clothes clung to his body, signaling that he, too, had gotten wet.

"Say, didn't your car get wet? Won't that cause damage?" Arthur wondered, brows furrowing.  
Francis just laughed, shaking his head.

"Oh, no, it's alright. The seats were made for that sort of thing, so there's no problem," He explained, blue eyes sparkling happily.

"…I see," Arthur responded flatly, unable to share the man's constant enthusiasm. "Well, thanks for taking Peter. Good afternoon and goodbye." He wasted no time in slamming the door in the Frenchman's face.  
The Brit chuckled to himself, letting himself walk away from the doorframe. But no sooner had he left the mat did he hear calls from his younger brother, beckoning for him to finish their video game.

Arthur couldn't help a small groan, though he didn't protest further after picking up where they left off.

He never imagined that it would become a pattern—Francis coming in to take Peter, leaving for an hour to the pool, and bringing him back. However, the three of them quickly accustomed to the schedule. Everyone was happy with it, and there was no harm done. Francis and Peter would have fun, and Arthur got much-deserved time to himself.

And it would've continued that way—until after the fourth day, when his traitorous little brother and the bloody idiotic Frenchman finally found a way to drag him along.

 **A/N: I warned you it'd be boring v3v This was more of a 'setup' chapter than anything-Stuff actually starts happening in the next ones! ^^ If** ** _I_** **were reading this, I'd probably skim over this chapter; so I'm not going to blame you if you did XDDD  
I also mentioned earlier that I was trying a new line spacing style~ Is this easier to read? Is it clearer? ;^;  
Call me out on any mistakes, okay? c:  
Review, please! :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Good gosh. XDDD It is almost 3AM over here, and I was supposed to go to sleep early tonight ;-; I have an eye doctor appointment next morning...well, actually, in a couple hours. :'D Whoops. vUv  
I only get to write at night, because I do other things during the day; so bedtime is actually writing time. XD Thank gosh it's summer, though.  
But I feel kinda bad q^q I worked FOREVER on this, and it's a hella long chapter; but it's absolute bullcrap. UvU Half of the stuff I do is really sucky, just because I have to write it late into the night. And I'm not exactly my best at those times. :D  
Most of this is just skim-material, so you can ignore this one for the most part, like the first~ But hey, we actually get some Alfred at the end! XD And a million other Hetalia characters. e.o I just really wanted to shove as many charas in as possible~ Y'know, cameos ;u;  
Can you name them all? :'D **

Arthur practically hissed when he stepped out of the passenger seat door, shielding his eyes against the sun. The very first thing he realized when he left the relative safety of Francis's car was that he heat was _unbearable_. The Brit had been out literally 2 seconds, and he already regretted everything. He tugged on his shirt, glaring over to Francis when the man sidled alongside him.

The Frenchman just gave him a small, knowing smile, his eyes reading 'just give it a chance, Arthur'. In return, the green-eyed scoffed, his cold stare having 'I'm done with chances' vibes.

"… _Mon Dieu_ , Arthur! You don't have to be so bitter!" Francis sighed at last, his perfect eyebrows knitting together in a pained expression. "Wouldn't you agree, Peter petite?" He undid a lavender ribbon that previously hung loosely around his wrist, expertly pulling his hair back into a ponytail and tying a neat bow.

So that's what the ribbon was for, Arthur thought dryly.  
"I don't like hair in my face," Francis explained, catching the look on the Englishman. He tried to smile at the other, but something about the Brit told him to _flip off_. The older gave a tired sigh, instead responding to Peter's whines and walking with the boy in the direction of the pool.

The Briton hesitated, glancing to the car and remembering the refreshing coolness inside…but he then reminded himself that heat builds up quicker than anything inside a shut-off vehicle. With that, he decided he should probably catch up with Francis and Peter before he lost them—and he staggered towards them, flip-flops slapping on hot concrete.

He was, admittedly, almost breathless when he caught up with the other two. Somehow, while he stood in a moment of indecisiveness, the other two blonds managed to walk halfway across the parking lot. He had to jog, which made his feet ache, just because flip-flops weren't quite running material.

"You know, it was quite polite of you to just leave me stranded there next to the car. Really, a wonderful to have you two just walk off without my consent. I'm such a blessed man," Arthur chuckled sardonically, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Not really," Peter stated simply, letting go of the Frenchman's arm to walk next to his sibling. "You were the one that decided to just sit there when you should've followed. It's not that difficult," He cocked his head, his familiar English accent crisp and relatively soothing. However, he could only grumble something back sullenly, looking up to the man leading them both.

Francis hopped onto the sidewalk, turning towards the Brits to reveal a bottle of sunscreen in his hand. He promptly squirted some onto his palm, quickly rubbing it into most of his showing skin. "SPF 7o, so you don't burn yourselves," He laughed knowingly, waggling a finger in a mock-scold. Francis stretched the bottle to the younger's direction, and Peter held out his palms. As if it had been practiced, the Frenchman put a dab of white on each hand.

Well, of course this was rehearsed, the Englishman silently reprimanded himself. They'd been doing this for almost a week now, before he joined them.

While the boy was applying the sunblock, Francis leaned forward and playfully smeared some onto Peter's nose. They both broke out into a giggling fit, which Arthur couldn't help but to sneer at. Bloody imbeciles. They only had an hour, and they thought they could just waste it over trivialities.  
…But then, again, they'd come here to have fun. So they should be excused, he reasoned. Still, it was ridiculous.

The green-eyed almost jumped when the Frenchman turned towards him.  
"Hold out your hands," Francis playfully leered, eyes twinkling jokingly.  
"Oh, just give me that," The Brit snapped angrily, voice tight with irritation. He snatched the bottle from the Frenchman's hand, grudgingly applying some to himself. He was the one that sunburned the most easily, out of the three of them. He needed it the most.

Before they'd even gotten to the gate, the screams and whoops of adults and children alike were in the air. The smell of chlorine and sunscreen hit Arthur's nose, and he absentmindedly rubbed it. Splashes and the general sound of water were almost drowned out by the happy yelling of various pool-goers.  
Already, Arthur was starting to regret everything.

Francis stopped at the iron gate door, fishing a white card with a simple barcode out of his pocket. He held it up to a small scanner next to the lock, which blinked a couple times before finally flashing green.

The Englishman blinked surprise when he heard the gate door unlock, and the taller man pushed it open to let Peter in.  
Catching Arthur's expression, Francis laughed. "It's a summer pass! Normally, you have to go to the front desk and pay for the day. But if you get a summer pass," He paused to wave the credit-card style white plastic, "you pay once to get it, and you can use it for the rest of the summer."

Arthur nodded slowly in understanding, automatically asking how much it was. Not that he was ever going to get one himself. As if he had use for it.  
When Francis responded with the price, his brows lifted in shock. "So much?" He practically exclaimed, frowning.

"Well, that's the tourist price," The Frenchman explained. "I tried to convince them that I've lived here for four years, but I guess they didn't believe me!" He gave an exasperated sigh.  
"I guess that's what you get for having an accent," Arthur smirked, crossing his arms. "I told you to get rid of it years ago. Say, why didn't you just show your ID card? To show them you're a resident?" He cocked his head, frowning.

"I left it at home," Francis bemoaned, pouting the slightest bit. Arthur just laughed, shaking his head at the man's stupidity and walking through the gate door.

It wasn't seconds before he was almost run over by some screaming Italian. Arthur staggered back, about to shout a curse after him when another Italian, very similar looking, streaked after the first. His voice was deeper, and he was screaming Italian phrases that he somehow _knew_ should be censored.

"No, Lovi, _por favor_! _No te vas_! _Porque me dejas tan solooo_?" A Spaniard man was right behind the other, speaking in what sounded like Spanish. Then, taking both the Italian and the Brit by surprise, the man tackled 'Lovi'.  
"AHH! That was _completely_ uncalled for, _idiota_!" The dark haired Italian almost hissed, face burning red. The Spanish man just laughed, making a comment about tomatoes, before being pummeled.

Two German men showed up at the scene. One was shorter, and had almost silvery platinum blond hair, along with mysteriously red eyes. He stood over the squabbling Spaniard and Italian, making some sort of sarcastic comment and laughing at his own joke. The other, who was much taller, sported slicked-back blond hair with cold blue eyes. Instead of doing something about the others, he ignored them and continued chasing the first Italian.

In the water, there was a large Russian man with a strong nose who also had platinum blond hair—but his eyes were a shocking violet. And despite wearing nothing else but trunks, he had a now-soggy scarf still wrapped cozily around his neck. He seemed to be trying to drown a nerdy-looking blond, simultaneously clutching an Asian woman…or was that a man? He had shorts on, so he couldn't have been a woman. Arthur frowned. The silky black ponytail must've thrown him off…but then again, he practically lived with Francis. It never bothered him, and it certainly didn't now.

The _man_ seemed to be held against his will, and was crying out in Chinese to another Asian at the pool's edge. This one had shorter black hair. His deep brown eyes watched silently from afar, and he looked somehow detached. But there was another man sitting next to him. He was significantly larger, and had brown sideburns that easily reached his shoulder level. For a second, he turned his head to focus on the Englishman.

Arthur fought down a shiver when piercing green eyes narrowed down on him. The man, roughly identified as a Grecian, slowly cocked his head in an almost cat-like fashion before looking back to the water.

The Brit let out a breath he didn't know he was holding—just to be almost barreled down by yet _another_ group of men.

The first was a tall man with bright blond, spiked hair. He whooped and cheered in a Danish-sounding language, running to the pool's edge and jumping in without skipping a beat, screaming "CANNONBALL!"

The two men that followed after had expressions that could only be described with 'this isn't the first time he's done it, but we're still completely done with him'. One was slightly taller, and had light blond hair with a cross-shaped clip holding back bangs. A mysterious curl seemed to almost hover by his neck, and the Englishman just swore it off as his eyesight acting up again. The shorter man's blond hair was so pale, it was practically gray, and there was nothing particularly strange about him—other than he also had purple eyes, too.

The last two men who entered were holding hands. This time, one was considerably taller. He had glasses over piercing blue eyes, pale blond hair, and a demeanor about him that almost made Arthur want to fear him. The man at his side seemed much sweeter, with neat hair and large bluish-purple eyes. Something about them made them seem…together. Now, Arthur had nothing against it—he was gay himself, and he found it rather cute.

Plenty of children were in the water—arm floats, inflatable playthings, pool noodles, and all sorts of toys bobbed in the water, littering the blue with every color of the rainbow.

Peter laughed, diving into the water to join some of his children friends. Arthur gave a small chuckle, lifting his thick brows as he looked towards Francis. While he found himself a seat on one of the pool chairs, the Frenchman walked forward to see the Spaniard and Italian.

With a bit of a start, the Briton realized they were still fighting all this time. The Spanish man was casually blocking each fist that came, and the bitter Italian was still shouting and spitting insults. Francis sidled the red-eyed German, making some sort of comment that made the other blond snicker. However, judging from the look that the Italian gave him, he didn't like it. In seconds, he bounded up, snapping a few choice words before giving the Frenchman a solid punch to the jaw.

Arthur faked a wince as another fight broke out, soon grinning. What a show. He almost felt like clapping. If this was what happened at the pool, perhaps he'd be able to take a little more time out of his schedule to go more often… He rolled his eyes at the thought, taking a minute to look at the others in the surrounding pool chairs.

To his left, there was a man reading a book. Finally, a sensible soul, Arthur thought bitterly to himself.  
His book seemed to be on the history of music…interesting. Something about him said that he was Germanic, as far as Arthur could tell. His hair was a dark brown, and a single curl seemed to bounce from his hair part. Behind thin-rimmed glasses, **** eyes gently skimmed the page. The Brit then realized that he had a single mole near the corner of his mouth. He thought little of it, instead glancing over to the woman sitting near his feet. Curly light brown locks reached all the way down her back, and she was rubbing sunblock on herself. Hungarian, Arthur guessed.

She called back a question to the first man, who shrugged aloofly and looked to the pool chair on his other side.

There was a short man with shoulder-length blond hair that looked like it was cut with a razor. His eyes drooped slightly, glittering vibrant green. Not so different from his own, the Brit mused. He shot something back angrily to the first German-looking man, who frowned, but didn't respond.

The Briton realized that the blond, too, looked Germanic. He had a little girl sitting next to him, who also had shoulder-length blonde hair—but a perfect little bow was poised in her hair, and wide turquoise eyes betrayed childish innocence.

Across the pool, there were two Russian—Russian, right?—girls that looked awfully like they'd be the first Russian man's sisters. Perhaps they were, Arthur thought fleetingly.

Fairly near to them were a group of three men. One had glasses and dirty blond hair in a bowl cut. He was the tallest of them, but he sat with the shortest—a boy with light brown hair and a slightly childish demeanor. The last man was standing at the pool's edge, face contorted in a concerned expression. Long, slightly curly brown locks hung around his shoulders. He seemed to be looking towards the skirmish with the Russian, and called something out that Arthur couldn't hear—just as a vaguely Polish woman showed up. No, that was a man as well. Dammit. He seemed to be talking with the first man, who was starting to look more and more uncomfortable…

On Arthur's other side, there was…no one. No, wait. Wasn't that the man that the Russian was trying to drown?  
Yet _another_ blond-haired man was there. He looked like he was initially trying to tan, but was too busy silently watching the others around him. He had mostly the same hair color as his look-a-like, albeit slightly longer. A single, long curl sprung from his part; wide, almost purplish-blue eyes glimmered behind round glasses.  
As if on cue, he turned towards the Brit—and his brows lifted a bit. He smiled shyly, giving a small wave.

Arthur blinked surprise, but wasted no time in waving back. The other giggled quietly, gaze returning to the water.

Arthur looked back to the Russian, who had _finally_ stopped trying to kill the nerd. No, hold on…he definitely wasn't a nerd. The Brit raised a brow as the man clambered out of the water, shaking out his dirty blond hair. If anything, he was a jock—judging from the shocking amount of muscle that showed through his white tank top. He wasn't a hulking bodybuilder, but the man certainly had his fair share.

"Remind me to report you to the officials later," He called jokingly back to the Russian; or, at least, that's what he heard. Arthur frowned a bit when he heard the American accent play on the words. He never liked Americans—always too bloody arrogant, stupid and fat. Well…perhaps he could make an exception for this one good-looking stranger. And it wasn't like American accents made him shift in his spot when used correctly, particularly the Southern one… Okay, perhaps a little. But the English accent and spelling was the correct way, no doubt. It was the original, and American English was a sad excuse.

Arthur finished his thoughts with a prideful huff, letting his eyes drift to the American's trunks—and almost doing a double take.  
They mostly red, save for the thick yellow stripe on the outer sides of his thighs. In the space, red letters wrote out 'LIFEGUARD'. Perhaps he wasn't as joking as he first let on…could that have been a threat towards that Russian?

But…this man, a lifeguard? Arthur cocked his head unconsciously, thick brows furrowing slightly. He looked younger than him, as if he started college not a few years ago. The Briton hardly could've trusted him not to lose his keys; could he really be put in charge of saving lives?  
Then again, Arthur thought with a small smirk, he'd gladly put himself in those well-muscled arms…

It wasn't a couple seconds before the Englishman suddenly tensed. No, how could he be thinking that way? Sure, he was gay, but he couldn't just mentally hit on every bodily-gifted man he saw…! Even if it was a sexy American.

He almost sighed in relief when he heard a call from a woman—both he and the American man turned their heads towards the source.

At the top of the lifeguard tower, there was a woman in a one-piece swimming suit. It was decorated in the same red-and-yellow colors of England's lifeguards. She had long hair that reached down her back, in a similar way to the brown-haired woman of before—except hers was a glossy black, and she sported a pink flower. She had an Asian complexion, and innocent **** eyes. She waved again towards the American, who grinned widely back.

Nimbly making her way down the ladder, she started a light jog towards the man.  
"Your shift, Alfred," She smiled softly on contact, slipping off a whistle from around her neck and offering it. "I haven't used it at all, so would you prefer it?"  
The American— _Alfred_ , as he was identified—just laughed and shook his head. "Nah, I think I still have mine. But hey, thanks! That was real sweet of you, Mei," He chuckled, shoving his hand into his shorts pocket. Alfred quickly fished out a plastic lifeguard whistle of his own. "Yup, here it is! Alright, I'll take it from here!"

Then he started to pull off his tank top. Arthur's heart skipped a beat when he saw the soggy cloth dragged over his head, still clinging to his skin. He tried to hide a smile, letting his vibrant green eyes take it in. No one was watching, anyway… God, what a nice tan. And the muscles were as defined as ever.

But what Arthur didn't expect was the American turning towards him, and starting to walk in his direction.  
The Englishman stiffened, an involuntary blush forming on his cheeks. Was he caught? Was something wrong? Alfred _was_ a lifeguard, after all; maybe he'd missed something on the rules—  
…Oh, never mind. He was walking towards the other person on the pool chair next to him. His doppelgänger. Good lord, he'd never had such a scare…

"Can you hold onto this, Mattie?" Alfred asked, though he already dropped it on the floor next to the other's feet. It fell heavily, even squelching a bit from being so waterlogged. Mattie… Was that his actual name of birth, or was it a nickname? Judging from his attitude, it was more than likely a nickname.  
But oh goodness, he was so close…! Arthur could literally sit up, stretch forward, reach out, and touch that attractive little wanker if he wanted to.

The other man sighed quietly, folding the brown leather jacket in his lap. He smiled lopsidedly, eyes softening. "Yes, Alfred. Of course; it's not like I could turn you down anyhow." He chuckled weakly. "Oh, and I left your uniform at the top of the tower, okay?"

The American gave a double thumbs-up, grinning wide. "Alright, thanks! You're the best, bro!"  
'Bro'? They were brothers? Well, that would explain how they looked so similar.  
But just before Alfred turned all the way around, he looked right at Arthur. Right. At. Him.

 **A/N: Wow. What a dramatic ending. How original, too. Goodness, could ya tone it down any more? *sarcasm overload* :'D  
Pardon any mistakes! ^^ I'm not English, so I wouldn't know what it's like over in southern England XDDD  
What the 'Spaniard' says (lololol)  
** ** _"No, Lovi, please! Don't leave me! Why do you leave me so alooone?"_** **/didn't use any google translate for that, ahah  
I'm Cuban, but I'm actually not incredibly fluent oWo'' I'm learning about 9 languages in total, though XD Even though I can't speak normally without screwing up, wth's wrong with that picture, huh? ;w; Oh, and yes, have some irony :'D I'm Cuban, but I roleplay America ;v; **

**Oh, and I told you most of it was lame skim-material vUv But after this, it should be actual writing material, I swear! l'DDD**

 **But woww, I never expected that this would get so much positive attention! ;v; thank you!**


End file.
